


With just a look

by Phantom_Valheru



Category: 24 (TV)
Genre: But sorry if it is, But they are just friends, Hurt/Comfort, Jack and Chloe captured, Torture, With a hot poker, it's not that bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantom_Valheru/pseuds/Phantom_Valheru
Summary: Set any time after Season 3.  No spoilers, just a mention on who the current staff at CTU are.It's their last chance.  Give up the information.  They can go home.  But he can't.  And she won't.
Relationships: Jack Bauer & Chloe O'Brian
Kudos: 8





	With just a look

**Author's Note:**

> I've started bringing over some of my stuff from ff.net. It's old, but they are my babies and I wanted to give them a good home.
> 
> This one was always for Natushka, who asked a very (very) long time ago for a fic involving Chloe and a hot poker.

She hurts.

She lies against the cold, hard earth, breathing in the dirt, her cheek leaning against the cold ground. The pain is constant, covering her whole, an occasional flair whenever she tries to move.

It isn’t very often.

With her hands shackled in front of her there aren’t very many places she can go. Her eyes are closed against the dull light that buzzes incessantly above her, the only other sound the soft, repetitive drumming of a leaking tap.

It drives her insane.

Chloe O’Brian opens her eyes to stare at the man across the barren room. Jack Bauer is silent, his face a stone cold mask of control. But in her friend she sees the tension. The fatigue. She sees every nerve and muscle straining, every ounce of his will in concentration.

They will never break him.

~~~

It is cold.

Her body shivers uncontrollably, and she clenches her teeth in a vein hope to control it. They see it as a weakness.

Time is indeterminable to her, lying in that space, a place where the shivers could be confused with the shakes and her captors would use it against her. A place where just a whimper could cause mirth, and mirth could produce violence, and that violence be directed at her.

She has learnt to keep quiet.

He has learnt as well. Jack knows the price of calling out, and while they never need an excuse, the sound of suffering seems to delight them. Jack will never give them the satisfaction.

When they come for her, Jack can only watch silently as they haul her to her feet, drag her limp body from the room, and then leave the door open.

Jack understands.

What ever things they do to Chloe can never match Jack’s imagination. Muffled sounds, an occasional scream she just can’t stifle, all are far worse than him having to witness it.

But he’s forced to do that too.

Her eyes are locked on his as they drag her to her knee’s. Round, but not fearful as she bares up under their curses. He admires her, as one of them spits his contempt at her.

She doesn’t flinch.

He wants to talk to her, but he doesn’t dare. He knows whatever they have in store for her could be worse if he even tries. But somehow she knows.

Every word of encouragement, every ounce of support he has she hears. She sees. She draws upon. His eyes never leave hers and she loses herself somewhere in them. In a world they share from across the room he holds her tight against him, whispers softly in her ear that soon they’ll be away, that he’ll not leave her.

All without a word. With just a look.

There is one behind her, kneeling to her level. She can feel his hot breath against the back of her neck.

Jack watches as her body involuntarily shudders. But her eyes are hard.

They speak the same words. It’s their last chance. Give up the information. They can go home.

But he can’t. And she won’t.

Jack has never taken delight in what he does. The pain he’s inflicted is never done with relish. Every day he wakes and wishes it was unnecessary. He doesn’t understand these men. But as he watches the sick pleasure they take from hurting her, he wonders if maybe, just once, he might take the same pleasure from hurting them.

There are more questions. Threats. She doesn’t notice. Her world is narrowed, focused on Jack. She trusts him. He is an island of strength that she can reach if only she tries just that little bit harder.

But some pain you can’t block out.

She never sees it, but she knows what it is. She can even hear the sizzling flesh before she feels it. No power in the world could save her.

Chloe screams, a coarse guttural scream that chills Jack’s blood. Burning flesh assaults his nostrils and he watches helplessly as her body convulses and she falls forward. A dull thud accompanies her head smacking the ground as her body curls up in agony.

Behind her, they stand, a long metal rod in hand, the end still glowing.

She whimpers, eyes full of pain reaching inside of Jack and eating him alive.

They touch again.

Chloe’s body writhes, desperately trying to escape the torture. The metal rod burns through her clothes, leaving tattered remains. The small of her back is still smoking.

Jack wants to look away, wants to close his eyes and his ears to her suffering but he can’t. He sits transfixed, horrified, bile filling his mouth as disgust and unrestrained hate fill his head.

Chloe sobs, and they take delight. Congratulating each other on a job well done. Won’t be long now. She’ll break soon.

Jack doesn’t know how much more Chloe can take. How much more he can stand to watch.

The burning metal rod works it’s way across Chloe’s body, marking her soft skin with future scars, branding her with their evil. She has long since lost sight of Jack, his face pale, his body ridged, the only signs he shows of how this is affecting him.

On the inside, his mind is a sea of chaos, his entire being screaming at the atrocities being performed against Chloe. Against his friend. But he won’t go down into the deep well of blaming himself for their current condition. He knows if he goes there he wont ever come out.

Darkness never falls on their prison, hidden under concrete slabs, deep underground, but there are times when they are left alone. With one final word of contempt, the door slams shut with a note of finality. Jack closes his eyes in relief for the few hours of respite.

But soon he is moving. As gracefully as his can manage, his wrists linked in front of him by heavy steal shackles with a short link of chain between them, he moves to where Chloe lays, curled up in fetal position, her body ridged. He doesn’t speak; he knows they are still listening in, but he doesn’t need too.

He moves in front of her, laying on his side, then gently, careful of the burns marring her skin, he raises his arms over her head. With gentle pressure, Chloe feeling much like a rag doll in his arms, he pushes her towards him. They roll together, a practiced movement, Jack onto his back, Chloe on her stomach on top of him. He lets her settle a moment before placing his hands around her, holding her tight. It’s a little concession, keeping her battered and bruised body from the cold ground, but she draws from his strength during these moments, feeling his body beneath her.

Chloe leans her cheek against his chest, bound arms to her side, and listens to his ragged breathing as he drops his head to her ear, his lips breathing in her scent of sweat, blood and fear.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

Time has no meaning as Chloe feels the silent tears roll relentlessly down her cheeks. As she holds tight to Jack and feels his body shaking beneath hers.

They don’t sleep. Chloe, eyes open, her mind blank, concentrates only on the feel of Jack. On his chest as it slowly rises and falls with each breath. On his heart, drumming out a tattoo against her ear. If she hears it murmur, if it skips a beat as it often does, her body tenses, waiting for the next one. She finds comfort there, in the knowledge that no matter what the obstacle, no matter if sometimes he falters, Jack Bauer goes on.

The night, if that’s what it is, slips away, and before she’s ready they’re back. Her body goes ridged when she hears them, and Jack’s arms tighten against her.

Inside she is screaming as Jack gently rolls them back over. She slips out of his grasp and their eyes meet, Jack’s so deeply full of concern and worry. A shackled hand raises, and a rough knuckle wipes a tear from her cheek. She’ll hold on to that moment, it will be what gets her through another day, as she tries to show him she’s not afraid.

The noises outside suddenly stop. Jack and Chloe both ignore the change in routine, preparing each other as best they can for the day ahead. Without words, Jack gives her the courage, and she gives him strength. His eyes are soft, and he manages a smile, barely a twitch of his lips.

But it’s enough.

The gunshots make Chloe jump, and her eyes go round. Her mouth opens, a question forming, before her brain kicks back in and she clamps it shut. Talking is still not worth the punishment.

Jack’s eyes are now on the door, his brows knitted together in confusion. Or is that concentration? Sounds filter back through, muffled and disjointed. Time passes. Silence descends. Chloe looks at Jack with a question in her eyes, but he can only shake his head to answer. He doesn’t know what is going on either.

Footsteps, purposeful. Chloe literately recoils from the door. A long moment passes, Chloe’s heart thumping in her ears. Adrenaline pumps and the constant pain recedes. She knows something is different, and she can feel Jack’s tension. He’s getting ready to take advantage of whatever opportunity presents itself. For whatever it is they’ll find on the other side of that door.

It bursts inwards with a spray of wood, and directly following is a light so bright after the darkness of their prison it sears into Chloe’s brain. With a gasp she squeezes her eyes shut tightly, so intense is the pain she doesn’t hear the voice.

“Jack? Is that you?”

She peaks open an eye, the light is gone, and she see’s that it was a mounted flash attached to a weapon. Her eyes travel to it’s owner, and she doesn’t believe who she sees.

“Yeah Doyle... it’s me.” Jack’s voice is scratchy, he sounds a thousand years old. He glances at her as the team from CTU enter the room, watching as they undo her binds. She sits on the floor, her eyes searching, not quite focusing on one particular person. With a few shuffled movements he’s next to her again, and she looks up at him and offers him a smile. A Chloe smile, with just the side of her mouth, although her eyes twinkle with moisture.

And he can feel her, her body still shaking, not quite believing what is happening. Without a sound, he gathers her into his arms, Chloe’s head resting on his shoulder as he quietly mummers things neither of them understand into her hair. Oblivious to the bustle around them, Chloe again focus’ on Jack’s breathing, on his heartbeat.

She never wants to move again.

~~~

They release her from the hospital on a cold, grey day, the wind whipping at her clothing and sending shivers all the way down to her toes. She hasn’t told anyone. She hails a cab, lets herself into her darkened house, curtains drawn. She tries to think back to the last time she had been here, before she had been captured. She hadn’t realised then when locking up that it could be the last time she ever performed that act.

Her fish are dead. A gift, she forgets from whom, their tiny bodies starved over the course of her absence. With automated movements she disposes of the fish, cleans out the tank. The house is silent, the room cool as she pads to her computer and flicks it on.

Bill won’t let her back to work. He’s taken her security pass, but she knows there are things she can do. She eases her aching body into the chair, staring at the screen as the computer boots.

Her thoughts drift. She thinks of Jack, who was allowed back to work directly after their rescue. In comparison, his injuries were minor. She envies him. She thinks of those at CTU, who laboured so hard to bring them both home. She thinks she could have done it faster. She thinks on everything except the events that transpired in that basement. She refuses to be one of those people that lets the fear of the past haunt her.

It happened, she knows this. It was horrific, and her body will bare the scars for the rest of her life... but she won’t allow herself to become traumatised. All she wants is to go back to work.

The day slips by into night. Chloe isn’t tired, working on, focused on catching up on what she missed. By morning her lids are so heavy she can barely make it to her bedroom. Her room feels hollow. As the sun peaks over the horizon, she crawls into her empty bed, shivering, though not from the cold. She lays back, determined to sleep.

It won’t come.

Minutes pass. Hours. Chloe pads back to the kitchen, sets her coffee machine brewing. Seconds later a thunderous sound comes from the hallway. She almost screams out loud, she certainly does in her head, her body going ridged.

A memory flash back to the basement. Silent screams, pain flaring. Blackness and agony. She squeezes her eyes tight, dispels it. She won’t let it get to her.

The noise comes again. She’d forgotten about it. She realises it’s someone knocking at her front door. Irritated at the intrusion, she stalks to the door, scowl firmly in place.

Jack is standing there. And the look he gives her is full of accusation. She knows why he’s angry. She won’t even pretend. She should have told him she’d been released from the hospital. Let him drive her home like he’d asked.

But the last thing she wants is for Jack to think she’s weak. That she can’t handle herself.

She lets him in, leads him to the kitchen and pours him coffee. He wants to talk to her, but words don’t seem to be enough. Instead he studies her, trying to gauge how she’s feeling. He’s been doing that since they returned.

“Stop it.”

He doesn’t pretend to not know what she’s talking about, “You need to sleep.”

“I’m fine.” Her retort is clipped, automatic. She’s glaring at him. 

“Chloe.” He says her name softly, “Please?”

The request is so simple, but it drains away Chloe’s irritation.

“Fine.” She gets to her feet, her lips pressing her mouth into a straight line. She looks at him a moment as if she’s about to speak, but instead she stalks to her bedroom without a word.

He lets her go, unsure if he should follow. She’s been strangely detached during his visits to the hospital... . They didn’t talk... there aren’t any words for them anymore. He understands... couldn’t begin to imagine what she’s feeling... but he wants to do what he can for her.

His guilt at putting her in danger is threatening to eat him alive.

With slow movements, he cleans up her kitchen, then walks by her bedroom door. It’s been left open, natural light flooding in to mix with light streaming in through her windows. The curtains are open wide, abolishing any lurking shadows.

He stands in the threshold, leaning against the wall watching her as she lays on top of the covers. She seems dwarfed by the room, a lost soul in an expansive wasteland.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching her, realising perhaps for the first time just what Chloe has gone through for him. The risks she’s taken for him and the lengths she’s gone to help him. Protect him. She could have saved herself in their prison. Given him up. He wonders what he’s done to deserve her by his side. Really, when he thinks on it, the only constant in his life. No matter what, he can turn around and she is there, without question. Trusting him blindly, no matter how outrageous his request.

He only hopes he never lets her down.

As Jack stands silently in her doorway, Chloe dreams.

It’s dark. So blindingly dark she doesn’t know where she ends and the abyss begins. She can hear them breathing. So close, it prickles her skin. She can’t see Jack and terror grips her very soul. She struggles but she can’t move, weighed down by something. The darkness? She’s powerless and she’s frighten, and if only she could find Jack, she’d be okay.

Hands are on her. Touching, probing. Pain assaults her, and her mouth opens wide but she makes no sound. She can’t make a sound, she knows this. She wants to call out to Jack, wishes desperately to hear his voice. She clamps her mouth shut, the pain flares again. The taste of blood.

“Chloe!”

Her eyes snap open, she’s staring into the deep blue pools of Jack Bauer, his face inches from her. Her body is shaking, as she looks at him in horror, her eyes unfocused.

His hand snakes out to push her hair from her eyes, “Chloe?”

Her eyes fall shut and she swallows hard, steadying her breathing. A moment later he can feel her relaxing as her nightmare slips away, “I’m fine.”

Jack’s hand reaches out again, this time softly stroking her lip. It comes away stained with blood. Chloe sits up, Jack moving from his kneeling position by her bed to sit next to her at the same time, and she wipes her mouth, the jagged hole in her lip the price of her silence. 

As Jack turns his head, Chloe rests her cheek against his shoulder, her arms wrapped around herself, Jack’s arm falling behind to hold her around her waist. They sit in silence for an eternity, before Jack lightly places a kiss on the top of Chloe’s head.

“I want you to sleep.” He murmurs, releasing her from his grasp. With gentle pressure he moves them both, so he’s lying along her bed, propped up by her pillows. Chloe lay in between his legs, her head resting against his chest, and Jack snakes his strong arms around her middle. “Sleep.” He strokes her hair with the flat of his palm, and feels her body relax against him.

He doesn’t know to thank her, for all that she’s done for him, but he thinks this may be a good place to start. And for once, Chloe’s mind is blank, the constant chatter in her brain giving way to the feel of Jack behind her. She doesn’t want to have to think, and Jack allows her that.

She finally finds sleep in his arms, finding peace in the ragged beating of his heart.


End file.
